Dear Alan Poem by Pat Dring

Dear Alan Titmarsh, how are you.
I do hope you and everyone else, enjoyed themselves at the do.
If you are ever in Ruddington, could you please give me a hand.
I’m trying so hard to create a garden, with a matchbox sized piece of land.
I don’t seem to have green fingers at all.
All the heads of the flowers, just jump off, when I’m playing football.
Everything I touch, and try to grow, seems to shrivel up and die.
It doesn’t seem to matter, just how hard I try.
Today I have just planted the Christmas tree in a tub,
I hope it doesn’t get some awful bug.
I want it to grow, but everyone keeps telling me it will die.
If it does I will cry.
Next Christmas I want this tree outside with fairy lights on it.
But if it dies my husband will bin it.
Yesterday I planted 100 bulbs all in tubs,
But they will probably go to Australia or get eaten by grubs.
Last week I watch the secret garden on TV,
That is how I really want mine to be.
So please can you come and give me a hand,
And create me a beautiful garden, with this matchbox size piece of land.